Her presence made him feel at ease; the fire in his heart was cooled and he was becoming addicted to her. He craved her until he had her, and once he took her, neither of them could stop. Her body became his safety, her mind his home. The more he loved her, the more he was hurting her. He couldnât stay away, and through their struggles and growth, she became the normalcy heâd craved his entire life.
His relationship with his dad continued to grow slowly into something close to familiar. A few family dinners, and he had begun to chip away at the hatred he felt toward the man. He was seeing himself differently, and that helped him see the wrongs of his father in a different light. And thatâs when he needed her to anchor him, as his life changed again and his family shifted. He was growing to care for a houseful of strangers in a way that he swore he never would.
It wasnât easy for him to fight against twenty years of destructive patterns and base animal reactions.
He had to fight each day against the liquor calling to his blood, against the anger he was trying to let go of . . . but didnât know how to. He vowed that he would fight for herâand he did. He lost a few battles, but never lost sight of winning the war. She taught him laughter and taught him loveâand he has expressed this time after time to her, but he will never stop.
one
The last few days of summer break are always the best. Everyone is fucking frantic, living out their last-minute summer plans and wishes. The parties get more crowded, the girls get more wild . . . but even so, I canât fucking wait for the semester to start. Not because Iâm some idiotic freshman, excited for the wondrous world of university. No, Iâm anxious because if I play my cards right, Iâll be graduating in the spring, a full year ahead of time.
Not bad for a delinquent no one assumed would even attend university, much less graduate early.
My mum was so terrified for my future that she sent me halfway across the damn world to the grand state of Washington to live near my father. She used the bullshit excuse that she wanted me to âreconnectâ with him, but I wasnât fooled. I knew she simply couldnât and didnât want to put up with my shit anymore, so off to America, like some colonial Puritan of old.
âAre you almost done?â Pink hair and swollen lips look up at me from between my legs. I had nearly forgotten she was here.
âYeah.â I wrap my hands around her shoulders and close my eyes, letting the physical pleasure sheâs giving me take over. A distraction, thatâs what she is. They all are.
The pressure in my spine builds, and I donât bother to pretend that I enjoy her company for more than sexual pleasure as I release into her warm mouth.
Seconds later, sheâs wiping at her lips with the back of her hand and getting to her feet.
âYou know . . .â Molly reaches for her purse and pulls out a tube of dark lipstick. âYou could at least pretend to be interested, asshole.â Her lips pucker, and she wipes a finger across the excess crayon painted onto her mouth.
âI am.â I clear my throat. âPretending, that is.â
She rolls her eyes and raises her middle finger to me. Iâm interestedâsexually, at least. Sheâs a good enough fuck, and sheâs okay company sometimes. We are a lot alike, her and I. Both rejects of our families. I donât know too much about her past, but I know enough to know that some bad shit has happened to her to make her run all the way to Washington from some rich-bitch town in Pennsylvania.
âDick,â she mutters, pushing the cap back on her makeup. She looks better with naturally pink lips, lips that are swollen from having my cock in her mouth.
Molly is an acquaintance of mine. Well, a friend with benefits, I would say. Our âfriendshipâ isnât exclusive, not in the least, and we both have full freedom to do whatever, or whoever, the fuck we want. She hates me half the time, but Iâm okay with that. Itâs mutual.
The rest of our friends give us shit about it, but it works. Iâm bored and sheâs here. She gives good head and she doesnât stay around long after. Perfect situation for me. Her, too, it seems.
âYouâll be here tonight, for the party?â she asks.
I stand, too, pulling my boxers and jeans up my legs. âI live here, donât I?â I raise a brow at her.
I hate it here, and daily I find myself wondering just how the fuck I ended up in a fraternity in the first place.
My shitbag sperm donor. Thatâs how. Ken Scott is a grade-A fuckup, the worst type. Alcoholic fuckhead who destroyed my entire childhood, only to magically turn his life around and move in with some lady and her son, a loser only two years younger than me.
His do-over, I suppose. Ken Scott gets a fucking do-over, and I get to be in a stupid-ass fraternity at the college heâs basically in charge of. On top of this, he practically begged me to move in with him, as if he thought I would actually live under his roof, under his control. When I refused, I had assumed he would get me an apartment, but of course he didnât. So here I am, in this stupid house instead. It really pissed him off that I chose this shithole rather than his clean, pristine palace.
The stupid-ass fraternity does have its perks, I guess. A massive house with parties almost every night, a constant stream of endless pussy. And the best part of all: no one fucks with me.
None of the pissant frat boys seem to mind the fact that I donât do shit to actually represent the house. I donât wear their stupid sweatshirts or plaster their stupid bumper stickers on my car. I donât participate in any of the volunteer shit, and I sure as hell donât go around yelling the name of the shit. They do some okay shit for the community, but they donât actually give a fuck about the community, and none of that matters.
When I glance around the room, I realize Iâm alone. Molly must have left without me even noticing.
I get up and open the window to air the place out before it gets used again tonight. All of these empty rooms in the house work in my favor since I canât stand to have people in my own. Itâs too personal or something, I donât know, but I donât like it, and everyone has learned one way or another not to come in here. Molly and whichever other girls come around know weâre bound for these empty rooms and not mine.
As I approach my door, I see Logan stumbling down the hall, a short, curly-haired girl under his arm. She isnât quiet about what she wants to do to him, and Iâm not quiet about my disgust.